


Double Shot

by rashaka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Dirty Talk, Bad Porn, Bisexual Bellamy Blake, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Bisexual Roan, Clarke and Bellamy are together, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Multi, Objectification, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamorous Character, Rimming, Roan basically doesn't have a character here I'm sorry, Roan is a snowboarding instructor at their vacation lodge, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, like a lot, like the MOST E-rating that I've ever posted, so move along if you're young, the porn practically writes itself, wow so this is very E-rated okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9183544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rashaka/pseuds/rashaka
Summary: Clarke and Bellamy have a romantic getaway, and take advantage of the scenery."We’re a package deal, you might say.  I like to share, and she likes… attention."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raincityruckus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raincityruckus/gifts).



> Happy New Year, [raincityruckus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raincityruckus/pseuds/raincityruckus). It's gonna be a great one, so let's kick it off with some modern AU Bellarke porn with guest Roan abs.
> 
> Note: this story is pretty skimpy on real world details, but just assume all sex is practiced safely and materials aids are used well and appropriately. it's fic.

At the end of a snow day the lobby of Arkadia Ski Lodge is a zoo of strangers, noise, and sweat.  Clarke and Bellamy trudge through crowd, finally finding a place near the rental desk to sit and peel their snowboarding gear off.  Jackets, scarves, and gloves tumble onto the bench beside them like discarded armor.  Clarke leans her head on Bellamy’s shoulder as she unstraps her massive, overly-buckled plastic boots one at a time.  Bellamy light kisses the top of her damp hair then does the same, groaning through the whole process.

"I hate snowboarding and I hate my legs and I hate winter.  Why the fuck did we do this?"

"You had fun," says Clarke, smiling as she knocks his ribs with her elbow.  Her own muscles feel the pull of a day on the slopes too.  She grimaces momentarily as she gets her second boot off, flexing both sets of toes in a gesture of aching relief.

Beside her, Bellamy snorts.  "If your calves are anything like mine you’ll be begging for me to carry you everywhere tomorrow."

"You’d carry me, wouldn’t you?" she asks, tilting her shoulders coquettishly and batting her eyelashes in the most cartoonish way possible.  Her attempt at snowbunny appeal is slightly undercut by the less than sexy polypropylene undershirt and the pungent smell they’re both contributing to the  _ eau de lobby, _ but Bellamy can’t honestly say she’s wrong.

He bumps her shoulder in retaliation.  "Probably, if I don’t fall down dead first."

Clarke pats his knee.  "It’s okay.  If you do, I’ll just get our snowboarding instructor to carry me."

"That guy," the breath explodes out of Bellamy in a whoosh of derision, "was an asshole.  I refuse this plan.  All he did for forty-five minutes was berate us."

"Mostly you," points out Clarke.  "He told me I was doing pretty well for a first timer.  I have ‘good form’."

"Brag if you want but he’s the reason we’ll both be crying into our chicken soup tomorrow."

"You say that like it’s his fault we paid him money in exchange for lessons.  Regretting it?"

Bellamy gives her a sideways glance, gathering up his boots and gear.  "Considering how many times I fell on my ass, I think we might’ve been better off with an hour of YouTube instead.  Maybe he has a Yelp page and we can downrate him for general dickishness."

Standing up, Clarke stretches until her white mesh shirt lifts to show a strip of pale stomach.  "How about we seek vengeance later.  Right now I want to return this stuff, take a bath, and nap for about a year."

Clarke’s wishlist is easily fulfilled, and they get se food and a couple hours rest in before Bellamy has the brilliant/terrible idea of getting them dressed up and headed downstairs to the ‘famous’ Arkadia restaurant and lounge bar.  (Bing Crosby once performed here, the flyer says, and there’s a burger named in his honor available for only $17.95.)  She’s certain it’ll be boring and have terrible music, but Clarke is also keenly aware that they don’t get a lot of date nights with their respective jobs as a firefighter and a junior litigator.  A romantic weekend at a snow lodge deserves the full effort, so she puts on skin-tight jeans and a royal blue sweater that upgrades her tits from natural assets to supernaturally buxom.  Bellamy takes her hand and they head toward the elevator together, trading light kisses as the doors close and numbers cycle down.

Surprisingly, the lounge bar isn’t half bad.  After snacking on appetizers they drink and dance and laugh.  Clarke watches Bellamy with hungry eyes as the evening ticks by, and he watches her as well, until they end up at a little table with high stools, their hands touching flirtatiously and their heads bent together.  It’s going about as good as a date in a ski lodge restaurant can go until Bellamy notices their snowboarding instructor leaning against the bar. He's got his hip cocked out and his hair half pulled back to show off his cheekbones.

Bellamy nudges Clarke’s ankle with his shoe.  "Check it out, grade school principal from hell at five o’clock."  Obediently she looks behind her, measuring the stocky man like a piece of meat.  After a moment she returns to her martini and raises her eyebrows.

"Maybe you weren’t paying attention during the lesson but his name is Roan, and I’ll have you know he’s a professional athlete."

"Oh, a professional athlete?" Raising his hands in defense, Bellamy concedes with exaggerated dryness and a shit-eating grin.  "My apologies.  I won’t sleight his character again."

With a  _ hmmmm  _ noise, Clarke taps her finger on her glass, then she slides it up the stem.  Catching Bellamy’s eyes, she drags her finger down again, leaving a faint streak in the condensation.  His gaze jumps from her face to the glass, watching the path of her finger with sudden voracious interest.  Up, down.  Up…down.

"You remembered his name," Bellamy says abruptly, taking her other hand and drawing his fingers over her wrist in a feathery touch.  "You liked him."

Clarke purses her lips.  "You didn’t."

With a shrug, he glides his caress higher up her wrist, under the edge of her sweater cuff, then gently back down.  Goosebumps shiver across her skin, and Clarke presses her legs together under the table.

"I didn’t like his snowboarding curriculum," admits Bellamy.  "But that’s no reason to write someone off completely.  Do you want me to invite him up?"

Clarke sucks in a breath, half-turning her head to see Roan at the bar one more time.  In a blue button-down shirt that barely stretches to cover his muscles and a shot glass in one large palm, he looks like more like a mafia hitman than a lodge employee.  She twists back to Bellamy, twining their fingers together and leaning in.

"Yes."

With a galant kiss to the back of her hand, Bellamy rises and heads across the small dance floor.  

This may only be the a little venue, but the approach is everything.  He knows that he looks good when he walks.  Clarke’s told him several times that she loves his swagger, especially in the dark gray shirt and black slacks he has on tonight.  It’s not something he thinks about consciously most of the time, but Bellamy has picked up strangers before and confidence is half the hunt.  He walks right to the bar near to Roan, leans on it, and makes a show of waiting for the bartender.  Idly, he catches the other man’s gaze.  When there’s no sign of hesitation there, no nervous twitch of his muscled frame, Bellamy gestures with his chin.

"Roan, right?  I took your class this morning. Bellamy Blake."

"I remember," Roan replies.  "You were shit at it."

This rolls right off Bellamy’s skin and he shrugs, relaxing his shoulders and angling his head.  "That’s fair.  Summer sports are more my style anyway.  Rowing, soccer, judo."

"Calisthenics," observes Roan, and Bellamy lets a tease of a smile tug at his lips.  Aware that he has the man’s complete attention, it’s time to play his hand.

Canting his head toward the opposite end of the dance floor, he says, "My wife and I would like to invite you up for a drink.  If you’re interested in company."

Together, both men shift to look at the table.  Clarke sits on one stool, knees crossed, lovely as a magazine photo.  Her tawny gold hair falls in soft waves over her sweater, and her cheeks are still pinked from a day of sun and slopes.  As they watch she brings a green olive to her mouth and plucks it off the little cocktail stirrer with her teeth.  Task complete, she sets the pick on a napkin and scrolls through something on her phone.

His eyes back on Bellamy, Roan jumps right to the point.  "Company for you, or for her?"

"For her.  Mostly."  Bellamy looks him up and down, moves a step closer.  He’s still a respectful distance from Roan, but the promise in his voice makes the room shrink down to only the two of them.  "We’re a package deal, you might say.  I like to share, and she likes… attention."

Leaning back abruptly, Bellamy smirks and drops a napkin on the bar with a three-digit number scrawled over the checkered logo.  "Anyway, we’re turning in.  Come up at ten, if you want that drink."

*

When a knock sounds against their room door an hour later, Clarke strides toward it, telling herself to be outwardly calm.  Like they’d hoped, Roan is on the other side.  He looks her up and down once: taking in the sight of bare feet and a one-piece shirt dress that ends mid-thigh.  When Clarke smiles slowly at him from the doorway, Roan smiles back.  The expression cuts across his face so that he looks more like a shark than someone generally ought to.  It’s a masculine beauty that’s vastly different from her husband’s, yet striking all the same.

"Roan," she greets him.  "Come in.  Would you like a drink?  We have whiskey, beer, and... whiskey."

Roan nods, following her inside.  "Thank you.  Whiskey will do nicely."

Their room at the lodge is midgrade; it has a convenient kitchenette and an open area with a sofa and two chairs, and behind that a king sized bed with a massive wooden headboard fills the bulk of the remaining space.  A series of small lamps give the place a pleasant earthy glow.  Gesturing him to sit, Clarke returns with two tumblers, two fingers of amber whiskey and ice in each.  "Bellamy’s in the shower, he’ll be out in a few minutes," she reports, taking the sofa spot on his right.

Roan accepts the glass and raises it.  "To your new hobby as a snowboarder.  May you slay the mountain."

Charmed, Clarke accepts the toast.  "May I slay the mountain," she repeats as they clink glasses.

The conversation flows easily from there; Roan is a piano and drums teacher in the off season, as well as a part-time ranger for the state park.  Clarke tells him about her work as legal counsel for a prisoner advocacy firm.  Most of it’s pro-bono work with convicts, but she likes to go after the law enforcement system any way she can.  To defend the people society has already written off, and all that jazz.  She talks about Bellamy too; he was an EMT and then a firefighter, now he’s only three years away from being made captain.  

As they converse, Clarke leans towards her handsome guest, dropping little touches on his shoulders, his knees.  Roan gives as good as he gets: a graze of a finger against the hand holding her drink, a brush of a knuckle along her hem.  He comportes himself with grace and power, even sitting on a sofa in one of the lodge’s hotel rooms.  Every movement is economical, spending no more energy than required, and she finds herself entranced.  If that weren’t enough, Roan’s sense of sarcasm and dry humor rings so similar to Bellamy’s that it sends a lightning bolt of desire right through Clarke.  She’s glad she asked for this, and the hungry, adventurous part of her can’t wait to begin.

"Hey," a voice calls as Bellamy steps out of the bathroom, behind a side wall near the bed.  Clarke’s head snaps around and she consumes the image of him in an instant: white t-shirt and loose jeans, black hair falling in damp curls over his forehead.  Under the clothes is a body she knows only too well, with broad shoulders, thick arms, slender hips corded in muscle.

"Roan, nice to see you again," Bellamy says, acutely aware of his wife’s stare.  "I see Clarke got you that drink. Hope it was a double shot."

Roan lifts the glass, only a little of the liquor remaining, and beside him Clarke rises suddenly.  With a quick, hot glance in her guest’s direction, Clarke strides toward her husband.  It’s only a few feet, and in that time she downs the last of her alcohol, holding it on her tongue.

Bellamy’s eyebrows pull together, and his hands land familiarly on her waist as she tugs him down for a kiss.  Whiskey swims from Clarke’s mouth into his, and Bellamy groans, snapping her flush against him.  One of his hands climbs up into her hair, and his eyes meet Roan’s over her shoulder.  The look Bellamy sends the other man is hot and dark and inviting. _Come and see,_ the look says, _come and touch._

Roan stands.  His whiskey tumbler makes an audible clink as he sets it on the side table.  Bellamy grins into his wife’s kiss.

When she feels a second set of hands trailing up her back, Clarke shivers.  Large, rough palms cup her ass, and Clarke pushes back against it.  Smirking, she lets go of the kiss with Bellamy and turns halfway to kiss Roan as well.  He’s as sharp as she imagined, all rough angles and sensual confidence.  Bellamy drops a line of kisses down her neck and across her collarbone; Clarke giggles, digging her fingers into her husbands hair while another man sweeps her mouth with his tongue.

As a unit, they guide her back to the room’s enormous bed, peeling Clarke’s clothes off of her by the time her knees bump into the mattress.  Bellamy’s shirt is gone too, as is Roan’s, and from there everything becomes a mess of hands, skin, lips.  Clarke wonders if they should have put music on, if they should have put the whiskey away properly, but the ravenous attention of two partners drives the brains right out of her head.  "Come sit on my face," Roan commands, backing further on the mattress and shoving aside the blankets.  It’s the same tone he used in their lessons this morning, and just like before it sends a frisson of lust right down to her cunt.

His frame stretches out over their cotton sheets like a savory dish of skin and muscle.  A hard bulge is visible through his slacks.  Clarke kisses Bellamy one more time, her naked chest pressing against his, then climbs up beside Roan.  Her bare limbs slide over the sheets until she’s beside him, and she swings one thigh over his shoulder.  His large hands grab her ass and secure her directly over his mouth, knees on either side of his head.  Clarke drops one hand into his hair and sinks until she feels Roan’s mouth latch onto her labia.  He licks into her, deep.  Like he’s been waiting all night to taste her.  Clarke settles onto his mouth, rocking over him, and a slight whine escaping her.  She cups one of her breasts, pinching the nipple between her fingers, and feels the ghost of Bellamy’s lips trail over her shoulder.  Turning her head, she captures his mouth, and the kiss her husband lays on her is almost as dirty as the tongue lashing Roan is giving her cunt.

"Get up here babe," she tells him between heady inhalations.  "I’m hungry too."

Flinging his hair back, Bellamy smiles and climbs up onto the mattress above Roan, standing and leaning against the giant headboard.  Bracing himself, he unzips his jeans and pushes his briefs down, freeing his erection to sway in front of Clarke.  It’s long and smooth, with a nice head and dusky color.  Clarke smiles at him like she always does right before she sucks his dick; it’s one of her favorite things and he never gets tired of the vision of her pretty lips grazing his tip.  

Below her, Roan does something good and Clarke jerks, her eyes fluttering as her body shivers.  Seeing her react like that from this angle adds an extra dimension to the eroticism of it, and Bellamy can’t help but touch her hair.  "You’re so hot like this Clarke," he breathes.  "Is he fucking you with his tongue?"

"Yes," Clarke gasps, rocking down.  "It’s so good Bellamy.  His tongue is so hot inside me right now."

"Show me?" he asks, and Clarke nods, shuddering again as Roan does unspeakable things to her cunt.  She grips the base of Bellamy’s cock, using her other hand to brace herself on his hip, and drops her mouth over the head.  Roan is busy below, working her over with a finger on her clit and his tongue against her mons; Clarke tries to match that pace.  They make a rhythm out of it—when Roan’s tongue scrapes inside her, she sweeps her own tongue under the frenulum of Bellamy’s cock, making him swear under his breath.  Her lips slide up and down his length as he tells her how gorgeous she looks.  When Roan moves his finger from her clit to thrust inside her cunt, Clarke swallows Bellamy’s cock down her throat.  She holds him her for a moment, relaxing her jaws and lining up so she can take his whole length.

"Fuck, Clarke," Bellamy moans, his fingers twisting into her wavy hair.  "Fuck yes, babe, take all of me.  Jesus, fuck, yeah.  Hold it."

Clarke chokes a little around him, suppressing her gag reflex, but even that little twitch of her throat is almost enough to make him come.  Hastily Bellamy pulls himself out, dropping to his knees beside them and kiss Clarke roughly.

"I wanted to taste you," she says as their lips part.  Bellamy grunts, knocking his forehead against hers.

"I love you," he whispers, kissing her like a starving man.  "And I’d love to come in your mouth, you know I want to.  But we’ve only just started, and tonight’s for you."

Clarke nods, her face scrunching up again as Roan pushes another finger inside her, stroking her walls to find the spot that makes her quiver.  Between his hands and his tongue and the taste of Bellamy’s cock, Clarke feels herself climbing higher and higher.  With Bellamy’s coaxing she leans back, her vulva more fully open to Roan’s assault, and Bellamy takes her breast in his mouth.  He teases the nipple, sucking on it at the same time as he drops his hand to rub her clit, and the sensory overload is too much.  Clarke bucks into Roan’s mouth, crying out as her legs strain and her orgasm sweeps over her.  Roan keeps up his ministrations, lashing her faster with his tongue.  When she’s shuddering and tapping Bellamy’s shoulder, he hauls her off Roan, kissing her neck and chest.

Clarke coaxes Roan to sit up too, latching her mouth onto his and practically inhaling his tongue.  She can taste herself, and nothing gets her hotter than that.  Roan obliges her for a moment, then turns to Bellamy and kisses him as well.  Bellamy grunts, grabbing Roan by that stupid half-ponytail and thrusting his tongue inside the other man’s mouth.  He wants to taste Clarke’s come too, and there’s still a hint of it there.  Roan kisses back rougher than he had with Clarke, one hand sliding over to yank on Bellamy’s dick.

Sitting beside them, Clarke takes a moment to compose herself, watching the show.  Bellamy looks gorgeous like this, his long neck curving and his elegant jawline moving as Roan presses into his mouth.  She loves the way his dark hair curls above his ears and along the nape of his neck.  She loves his wide shoulders and the sight of Roan’s hand encircling his perfect cock, tugging in time with their heavy kisses.  Clarke is just about to touch herself when Bellamy knocks Roan’s hand away.

"Too much," he gasps, dropping his head and looking over to Clarke.  He takes a few deep, whole body breaths, his gaze crawling over her naked body perched beside them.  Roan lets Bellamy’s dick slip free and brings the same hand up to to brush Clarke’s breast.  She tilts her head and meets his kiss: slower this time, languorous.

As they make out, Bellamy stretches over to his nightstand and pulls a couple condoms and a small bottle of lube out of the drawer, dropping them in easy reach.  Then he sweeps his lips across the back of Clarke’s neck, her shoulders, up to the spot behind her ear.  The spot tickles her, and Clarke breaks from Roan’s kiss in a half-giggle, turning her million-watt smile on Bellamy.  He smiles too, and they kiss sweetly.

"Bellamy," she says.  

"Yeah?"

Clarke bites her bottom lip, then lets it go, pinked and full.  "I think I want to ride you now."

He grins.  "I thought you’d never ask."

Roan leans back this time, watching the couple situate themselves as he gives his own cock a few casual tugs.  Bellamy lies flat on the bed, his feet hanging over the side, and Clarke climbs over him.  She leans down for a kiss as she slides onto his cock, moaning a little as he comes home.  Bellamy always feels deep from this angle, and it’s one of her favorites.  She likes the way he fills her, the slight curve of him complimenting her shape so that they’re ridiculously compatible.  It almost seems unfair sometimes that she can be this in love with someone _and_ this sexually right at the same time.  Every part of him feels like it was made for her, and as she rises and then sinks on top of him, Bellamy stares up at her like he feels the exact same way.

She’s almost forgotten their talented new friend, but Bellamy gestures Roan over, and he obliges, settling on his knees beside the headboard.  Clarke drops to her forearms on Bellamy’s chest, pushing herself back against the deep thrust of his hips.  Winking at her husband, she takes Roan’s cock in her mouth too, sliding him against the inside of her cheek.  Roan is about the same length as Bellamy but thicker at the base, with full foreskin.  She works it back and forth with her hands, bouncing her mouth on the head as Bellamy pushes into her from below.  After a minute of this Clarke pops it out, gives it a long lick from base to tip, then sits up, resettling herself on Bellamy’s cock.  She pushes herself up and down, doing most of the work, making sure to tighten all her muscles as she sinks onto him, then pulls up.

Conscious of Clarke’s lidded gaze, Bellamy turns his head and takes Roan’s cock in his own mouth.  He swirls his tongue over the head, then drags his lips down the length to nuzzle and suck his ballsack.  Roan grunts, "Yeah, come on," and runs his hand through Bellamy’s hair the same way Clarke has a thousand nights before.  That hair was made to be grabbed.  Roan meets her gaze as Bellamy sucks in his cock head, pushing lightly into her husband’s mouth and tugging on his damp, sweaty curls.

"I want to fuck your ass," he tells Clarke, his free hand reaching over to fondle her breasts with light, deft fingers.  "You into that?  Both of our cocks fucking you at the same time?  Serving you?"

Clarke’s mouth falls open and she grinds down on Bellamy’s cock as she breathes, "Yes.  Yes."

Her eyes drop to Bellamy, who releases Roan’s dick with a final suck before leaning up to give her a tongue-heavy kiss.

"You ready for this babe?" he asks, and she nods, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.  His arms come up around her too.

"I got you," Bellamy promises, scooting until his knees hang just over the edge of the mattress.

Roan moves off the bed and round to the end, trailing one finger down Clarke’s backside as he goes, as if she’s a skittish colt.  Clarke and Bellamy have slowed down now, somewhere between fucking and lovemaking, and she feels it when Roan takes a position behind her, between Bellamy’s spread legs.  For a moment it’s eerily similar to their pose when she initiated the kisses, but this time Roan kneels and she feels his mouth a second time.  Not on her cunt, but on the ring of her asshole.  His tongue circles it, teases it.  Clarke squeaks, holding onto Bellamy tighter.  Trying to relax feels contradictory against the direct stimulation, but Clarke’s been rimmed before, and she remembers how to absorb the feeling.  She’s done all this before, actually: once with her ex and a set of strap-ons, once with Bellamy and a mutual friend.  But the last time was two years ago, with a smaller guy, and no amount of anal play since then is quite the same as doing it all with a cock inside her cunt as well.

As she gets used to the rimming, Roan pushes his tongue fully into her ass, making Clarke squirm.  He tugs her cheeks apart with his palms, licks and encircles and fucks into her asshole until she’s a quivering mess between them.  Sometimes Roan dips below her and licks Bellamy’s balls, or caresses the base of his dick where he’s pushing into Clarke.  This is enough to make Bellamy moan too, almost pausing inside her.  Then Roan goes back to licking her, and Bellamy goes back to his slow, gentle fucking.

They do this for a while, until Bellamy’s basically stopped and Clarke rocks ever so slightly against him.  Roan teases her hole with his finger, rubbing her in circles then dipping the tip inside her before pulling it out.  In between, he licks her again, seducing her to relax. He adds the lube as well, pushing it down and coating his fingers and her at the same time. Finally when Clarke feels hazy and full as his finger slides fully inside her then out again, Roan stands.  He kiss-bites Clarke on her shoulder, guiding her to lean forward, and lines up his dick.  He’d already grabbed one of the condoms Bellamy put out.  He pushes in, a little at first, and Clarke whimpers.  She immediately tightens around Bellamy, clenching down.  

"S’okay," Bellamy whispers, wrapping his arms around her.  "I got you.  Relax, Clarke.  Relax."

With effort, she does, and Roan pulls out slightly then pushes in again, a little deeper.  Clarke’s ass flexes around him, but she doesn’t clench, so Roan repeats this, pushing a little more each time.  When he’s halfway inside her Clarke moans.  "Oh fuck.  Oh god, fuck, you’re so big."

"You can take me," Roan tells her, his voice rough in her ear.  He hasn’t been much of a talker, not compared to Bellamy, but he doesn’t hold back for this.  "You want me to fuck your ass, Clarke.  You want two cocks all for yourself."  

He leans back, vertical behind her again, pulling out and pushing inside her further.  " _ Fuck _ ," Clarke cries, drawing the word out into one forever syllable.

"You’re so hot like this," says Bellamy, whispering in her ear.  "I can feel him, Clarke, every move.  You can take both of us."

"He’s bigger than the last time," she moans.  "I don’t know…"

"You can do it, babe," he urges, and kisses her.  "You’re doing it."

Clarke feels Roan pull out and then push in again, deeper this time.  He’s so deep she can feel him pressed behind her, all the way in.  "Jesus," she grunts, gripping Bellamy’s shoulder.  Both men wait.  "I feel so full.  God."

Roan’s hands glide over her ass, then settle onto her hips.  He begins to move, slowly withdrawing.  "Fuck," gasps Bellamy below her, straining to keep still.  Roan pulls almost to the edge, then pushes in again.

The motion rocks her forward onto Bellamy’s cock, and Clarke lets out a cry.  "Oh my  _ god _ .  Fuck.  Fuck."

Roan thrusts again, and again, a little faster each time.  "Yeah," he grunts, "Come on girl.  Fuck me back."

She starts to swear a lot then, clenching onto Bellamy harder every time Roan’s cock pushes into her ass.  Bellamy grips her hips in his rock-hard fingers, holding her against him.  Clarke falls forward, her forehead sweaty on Bellamy’s chest.  One of his hands cups her head, touching her hair and talking her through it.  "You’re doing so good baby, you’re taking both of us."

"Bellamy.   _ Shit _ .  I’ve never been fucked like this before."

His words pepper into her hair, fervent yet soft.  "You’re doing so good Clarke.  You’re taking us babe.  Does it feel good?"

"Yes," Clarke moans.  She bites his shoulder, and her hand twists at the bed sheets.  "Fuck me, Bellamy.  Oh my god.  Fuck me now, please."

Bellamy starts to move as well, in and out.  He speaks to her as he does, pumping up into her hot cunt at the same time as Roan drives into her ass.  It blows Bellamy’s mind every time she squeezes the two of them, and he can’t help but babble out the words.  "Jesus Clarke, I can feel him through you and it’s so hot.  It’s so hot.  You’re so tight it’s unbelievable.   _ Fuck _ ."

As if a damn’s been broken with Bellamy’s movement, Roan begins pounding her faster.  He’s become a machine, less of a person than a cock that fucks for the sake of fucking.  Relentless, hard, all the things they brought him up here to be.  She’s relaxed enough now that he slides in and out, but when Bellamy is there too the combination makes her so tight again it’s like a vice grip.  Clarke rocks back into Roan’s cock and Bellamy’s, moaning and squirming between them.  She doesn’t know if she’s ever been this loud before, but she doesn’t think she’s ever taken this much before either.  Their two cocks see-saw inside her, filling her up and then pulling away and then filling her up again.  

The bed rocks beneath them and the slap of flesh on fills her senses.  With Roan behind her and Bellamy below, it feels like she’s being pushed every direction at once.  Her reality becomes disjoined.  Bellamy’s cock thrusts up the way she loves, filling her every inch.  In the same breath Roan is there too, driving in her ass and squeezing her cheeks apart to fuck her deeper.  Pleasure jolts through her in a blur.  Without asking Roan grabs a handful of her hair, pulling her back to strain against his cock, but Clarke’s always loved having her hair pulled so she lets it happen.

Her eyes meet her husband’s then, and Bellamy pops his hips up from the bed in a thrust that makes her bounce, and that’s when Clarke comes for a second time tonight.  A scream tears out of her, not their names and not God but some infernal combination.  She can’t even clench down as she orgasms because she’s already too stuffed with cock.  She just rides through it, then falls out of Roan’s grip and forward back onto Bellamy, shuddering.

Roan is still pumping her ass, slowing down gradually as he senses the change in her.  Bellamy waits, still hard somehow after all this, still not having come once yet tonight, and his hand goes up to touch his wife’s cheek.  She leans into the contact, eyes closed.  Then she takes two of his fingers in her mouth and suckles them gently.  Roan finally stops, still halfway inside Clarke, the pads of his fingers like hot stones on the sides of her hips.

Retrieving his fingers from her mouth, Bellamy asks, "Do you want to go a little more?"

Sucking in a great gulp of air, Clarke nods.  Roan slips out of her, and Bellamy lifts her off for a moment.  Her body screams at her, sore and satiated at the same time, but the knowledge that they aren’t finished yet makes her blood pound and her head spin.  Bellamy somehow appears in front of her with a glass of water, and Clarke downs the whole thing.  She pulls him down to the bed with her, and they kiss until Bellamy tells her to sit up and face Roan, grabbing the little bottle from before and pouring some lube out.  She does, turning and widening her knees to brace herself as she sinks down on Bellamy again—this time in her ass.  She takes him with less of the stress from before, just an intense stretching, the cool wetness of the lube, and the shocking depth this angle provides them both.  He’s not as wide as Roan, and they’ve done this in practice, so Clarke rolls her pelvis back onto him and makes a soft fluttering sound as he fills her up.

"Fuck, Clarke," Bellamy groans.  "Your ass is phenomenal.  You’re gripping my cock like nothing else.  Fuck me, babe."

She does then, lifting herself up and down his dick.  "You like fucking my ass, don’t you Bellamy?"

"Christ yes," he moans, hands on her waist, then lower.  Clarke tries to go faster, tries to bounce her ass on his dick like she might have if it were her cunt, but she can’t keep up so eventually Bellamy just holds her above him with his big hands on her hips and starts to thrust upwards instead.  Bellamy does the bouncing for her, and Clarke leans back, spreading her knees as her best friend and husband drives his cock up her ass.  When Roan climbs onto the bed and joins her, she doesn’t even blink.

She reaches out and grips his large dick, thumbing the head.  She takes a swipe of cum from between her legs and smears it over his condom covered cock.  Roan takes both her knees and bends them up until they’re almost to her face.  He palms his erection in front of her, adding some lubricant and watching her tits bounce as Bellamy pushes in and out from below.

Roan’s eyes burn into her.  "You want it, do you?"

"Yes," Clarke pants, nodding at Roan, and then before she can blink his cock is filling her.  The effect of two dicks once again stuffing her from either end takes Clarke to another level.  She shrieks, falling back against Bellamy’s chest as Roan totally controls her legs, her cunt.  Bellamy’s arms come around her middle, massaging her breasts, and his rapid thrusting into her ass settles into a more methodical, more paced screwing.  He kisses her neck and whispers dirty beautiful things into her ear, but Clarke barely hears it.  Above them, Roan presses her knees back and rams himself into her cunt, a staggering counterpoint to her husband plowing her ass.

"That’s right, your pussy just wants to be fucked, doesn’t it?" the bigger man groans.  "Yeah, that’s hot.  I can fill you up.  I can fuck you both all night."  Roan’s hips snap forward, and Clarke can see every taut muscle on his body as if they were made to pleasure her.  To fuck her for as long as she needs to be fucked, any position she wants.

Clarke’s voice goes incoherent, a mess of begging and pleading.  "Yes Fuck me, fuck me fuck me yes both of you yes fuckme fuckme fuckmefuckme—"

Every gasped syllable sings through Bellamy’s brain right down to his cock.  He has no words for this, for being balls deep in Clarke’s ass at the same time as another man pounds her pussy until she shrieks, clenching around him until he thinks he might finally burst.  He’s held on so long tonight, fucked her when she was so tight that it was a challenge not to come instantly.  She’s a beautiful weight above him, writhing on his dick and begging him and their goddamn  _ snowboard instructor _ to fuck her senseless.

The animal part of Bellamy’s brain doesn’t want this night to ever end, doesn’t want this moment to end, but the tight spasming of her ass squeezes his dick to jelly and the impending orgasm bears down on him like a thundering train.  Bellamy clamps one hand on his wife’s breast and the other over her clit, rubbing her roughly as his hips buck.  Clarke screams again, clenching down on the two cocks pounding into her, and Bellamy loses it.  He buries himself deep inside her ass, coming so hard that his legs shake, still trying to rub her clit even as he spills everything he has.

Clarke is shaking above him too, the aftershocks of her own orgasm rendering her momentarily blind and deaf to the universe.  Roan thrusts once more into her cunt then pulls out.  He yanks his condom off and fists his dick, pulling it in quick tugs as a stream of come spatters onto Clarke’s stomach.  Some of it lands on her breasts, but she doesn’t care.  Goodbye world, Clarke Griffin has checked out.  

Groggily, she rolls off Bellamy a minute later and onto the mattress beside him, curling her back to his front.  Flopping down next to her companionably, Roan grabs something from the nightstand, maybe tissues, and wipes up the mess on her stomach.  Belatedly, Clarke recognizes her yellow lace panties.  This idea seems so surreal in her blissed out state that she doesn’t say a word when he bundles the panties up and tosses them toward his discarded pile of clothes.

Spooning her from behind, Bellamy kisses the nape of her neck.  Clarke relishes the small touches, leans into them.  Occasionally he passes his hands down her hips, up her side, over her breasts, and tell her again how good she was.  Roan puts one hand behind his head and watches them.  

Clarke smiles at him drowsily, and over her shoulder Bellamy offers, "If you want to sleep here man, you can."

With a shadow of a smirk, Roan shakes his head.  "No, I got a class at seven a.m.  tomorrow.  But this was fun."

"Mmm," Clarke agreed, sighing into one of the pillows.  She can barely keep her eyes open when she talks.  "It was fun.  I was going to have you both pick me up, though.  I forgot to ask."

Bellamy, behind her, chuckles.  His top hand kneads one of her breasts.  "You like that mental image Clarke?  Both of us to fuck you standing up, pushing you between us?  Could you handle it?"

She runs her hand up forearm Bellamy has slung over her waist, pinching the muscle.  "Well you guys put so much work into these big strong arms, seems like they should be good for something."  In reply, the same arm locks around her middle, tugging her back into him, and he kisses her behind her ear.  

Smiling, Clarke squirms until his grip loosens, turning over her shoulder to kiss his mouth softly, wetly.  "Mmm, next time.  I’m too sore."

Her gaze falls back to Roan.  "Will you be here all winter?"

With a slow, dirty smirk Roan leans over to Clarke and kisses her.  She obliges; it’s a friendly kiss, dirty and quick.  He sits up, gaze sliding over both of them.  "Snow season goes until March, then picks back up in December.  And by then I’ll be managing the entire ski department.  So yeah," his eyes meet Bellamy’s.  "I’ll be around."

"Good," says Bellamy.  He sits up himself and pulls Roan into a kiss as well, with a little more tongue than Clarke had offered.  Roan responds by grabbing Bellamy’s hair and twisting his fingers into it.  From the mattress below them, Clarke makes a low, approving noise.  Finally Bellamy breaks off.

Like the rest of him—like all of them—his lips look red and well-used.  "Next time then."

"Next time," agrees Roan, sliding off the bed and scooping up his clothes.  He slips into his jeans, watching the couple cuddle on the mattress as he buttons his shirt and stuffs his trophy into his back pocket.  Finally he gives them a salacious once-over, nods, and lets himself out of the hotel room.  Clarke watches him go, snuggling further into Bellamy’s arms.  Too exhausted to do anything more than sleep, her eyes finally slip shut.


End file.
